I write this article to you; fresh faced JCG students, anywhere between eleven and eighteen, each of us in the wonderful, careless bubble of youth. I can’t make assumptions about any of your lives, but I’ll hazard a guess that your bladders still work pretty well and that none of your limbs are plagued with arthritis. We are young, exuberant, and entirely self absorbed.
I’ll try starting this again. Dear old ladies in waiting, maybe you’re the picture of youth, with all the raging hormones and mood swings to prove it, but there’s no shying away from the inevitable truth. One day, though it’s awfully hard to imagine, we’ll look something like our Grannies.
I wonder then, if we all know this, and nobody is trying to deny it, why do the elderly seem so distanced from ourselves? What strange glitch occurs in our brain, that convinces us we are somehow immune to the laws of age? I catch myself calling my Grandma ‘cute’ in the way you might refer to a house cat, or even a very young child. It’s always said with tenderness and affection, but the idea itself is worrying; at what age does a person turn into an endearment?
At one point my Nana was a young and vivacious woman with an entire world of possibility before her. Life occurred, and at some point she slipped off the threshold of youth, with a one way ticket to respectable adulthood. She was a very handsome woman, never one to let the greys climb up her roots, and I cannot tell you at what age she became ‘old’. To me she always has been. But I can at least offer today’s picture. Each Saturday or Sunday I visit her; my mum, my aunt and I hover two metres from the door of her Care Home, to which a lady wheels her chair. She is usually wrapped in a large fluffy blanket, and on some days the carers have done her hair and makeup very prettily. Nana’s eyes are a little vague when she looks at us and her lips form a watery smile. We try to stay for as long as we can, but it gets very cold with the door open, and even beneath her blanket I notice her begin to shiver. We had never imagined that my Grandma might have to live in a Care home, and I don’t think it’s a notion I will ever be entirely at peace with. The reality of dementia, we have learnt, is that good intentions are not enough to make things work out. The setup of our lives, lodged as they are in this raging, Western rat race, means that providing the care ourselves is entirely unfeasible.
This, of course, is only one illustration of old age. Thankfully, I also know plenty of elderly people who are just as independent, sociable and spunky as they were at thirty five. Happiness, of course, is not exclusive to youth. I do believe however, that there are fundamental issues with the way we view, and consequently treat, older people in the West.
Our lives are wedged in the big old capitalism machine, and whether you’re for it or fighting it, we’re all equally under it's influence. A success based culture is a real economic winner, but amidst the roar of boisterous ambition, a group in society is lost and ignored. Ironically, this is the one social group which (given we make it that far) every human is heading to. It puzzles me how we can think so little of the people who have been here the longest.
The issue can even be approached from a cynical, selfish angle. We spend our presents building our futures, working towards vague dreams of envisioned careers, untasted adventure, of love, of success. We are infatuated by the promise of our own happiness. What if I were to tell you that the final destination of this grand life of yours is a place of reduced value and dignity? Excluding a handful of loved ones, to the wider eye of society you will no longer be as valuable as your younger self was. The years of work under your belt, the children you’ve raised and the loves you’ve lost, the things you’ve learnt and surely taught; their importance fading with the colour of your hair.
How comfortable will we be in our youth orientated society, once we have passed our ‘best before’ date?
With ever growing elderly populations, this is the moment to re-evaluate how we view society’s oldest. In a culture which values a person’s ‘usefulness’ above all else, it’s essential to consider ways to actively involve the older generation in our community. Whether this be through child care, teaching, charity or administrative work; the ultimate aim is to recognise the elderly as valuable members of society, with whom we work and learn. By creating more opportunity and purpose for the elderly, we should be able to combat the loss of work based self-esteem, which many experience post retirement.
Examining other cultures is another useful way to improve our own; East Asia, for example, is rooted in the Confucian tradition of ‘filial piety’ which promotes respect and love for our elders. In an age overwhelmed by information, older people have lost their once sacred role as storytellers. And though I’m not suggesting that you quote your grandfather in your history essay, we cannot devalue first hand accounts of the past. In all their wrinkled glory, the older generation are vessels of another time, one we can only touch through books or art or horrible histories. Your grandparents, even if they’re terribly dressed and vaguely smell of mothballs, are the nearest thing to a time traveller.
An article can’t change society, but I hope to have at least challenged some of your ideas about the older generation. If you’re the empathetic sort, I imagine you’re thinking of some elderly relative right now. But if that’s not enough to force a change in your outlook, then let me appeal to the more selfish aspect of human nature. One day, you will be part of the demographic I describe in this article. In some ways, the future is in plain sight. It’s worth asking, firstly, how content we are with the current vision of elderly us? If the picture doesn’t satisfy you, how can we work to change it?
Take a few moments this weekend to remind your Grandparents, or any older person in fact, how valuable they are. Lend them your ears and your time, the two easiest and most gracious of gifts. And in the mean time I’ll be crossing my fingers, hoping that by the time my own white hairs come through, things will look a little different.
Kayleigh Lennon, Year 12
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